


Gay Deceivers

by Vera



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, Remixed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-01-01
Updated: 1998-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Cassie Ingaben did a fantastic remix of this story for We Invented the Remix... Redux IV: <a href="http://remix.illuminatedtext.com/dbfiction.php?fiction_id=69">Dicoveries and Deceits (I Want You To Want Me Remix)</a><br/>Publication date is only correct for year.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Gay Deceivers

**Author's Note:**

> Cassie Ingaben did a fantastic remix of this story for We Invented the Remix... Redux IV: [Dicoveries and Deceits (I Want You To Want Me Remix)](http://remix.illuminatedtext.com/dbfiction.php?fiction_id=69)  
> Publication date is only correct for year.

"Not here, Murph."

 

"But you like to live dangerously, Bodie."

 

Ray Doyle paused with his hand on the door to the rest room, eavesdropping. There was no more sound. Grinning at the thought of the mischief they might be planning, he entered the room and promptly dropped the newspaper he was carrying; sheets of paper scattered over the floor. Murph's arms were around Bodie, one hand on his arse. Firmly on his arse. Bodie's hands were gripping Murph's shoulders and they were kissing. Really kissing. You couldn't have slid a hair between them.

 

"Bodie." Doyle's voice cracked on the name. He strode over and grabbed Bodie by the shoulder, pulling him off Murph. "Oy, you two. Stop it. What the fuck's going on then?"

 

Bodie's eyes focused on his partner. He smiled, only a little embarrassed. "What does it look like, Ray?" He turned to grin at Murph, "Now you're living dangerously, my son."

 

Doyle looked from one man to the other. "Right, I want to know what's going on. Both of you, the pub now. You're buying." He poked a finger into Bodie's shoulder. "I need a large one." He turned to leave the room.

 

"So do I," Murph chuckled.

 

Bodie glared a warning at him. "Shut up! He's my partner," he whispered, "let me deal with it. It'll be better if I talk to him alone."

 

"Sure. Yell if you need rescuing, mate."

 

Bodie snorted his disdain of the possibility, "It'll be okay. Ray has hidden depths."

 

 

Murphy's eyebrows shot up. "You been keeping things from me Bodie?"

 

 

Bodie cuffed him, "See you tonight."

 

 

"Yeah," Murphy smiled, "got some unfinished business to take care of." He patted Bodie on the arse and disappeared into CI5's corridors.

 

 

Bodie caught up with Doyle at the bar. The barmaid was handing him a double. Doyle knocked it back, "Another, he's paying." He jerked his head at Bodie, the only acknowledgment that his partner had arrived, and headed over to a table in a far corner of the pub.

 

 

Bodie followed him with a half pint. One of them needed to keep his head on straight. 'And that's you?' teased the voice in his mind.

 

 

Doyle eyed him warily. Only Bodie could be caught snogging a man in the rest room at CI5 headquarters and behave as though he'd been having a cup of tea with his grandmother.

 

 

"How long?"

 

 

"Murph? A few weeks."

 

 

Doyle dug a fingernail into the tabletop.

 

 

"The Rodriguez stakeout in St John's Wood."

 

 

"Yeah."

 

 

The alcohol made its way from Doyle's stomach to his brain at last.

 

 

"So this is what you get up to when I'm not there to watch your back, Bodie?"

 

 

"Murph's one of us, Ray."

 

 

"One of you, Bodie."

 

 

There was silence as they regarded each other across a raw gulf. All the difference between them to this point had not divided them as this experience did.

 

 

"Ray. It's who I am. I'm the same man I was yesterday."

 

 

"No, you're not."

 

 

Bodie kept silent. His strategy, though not explicit, was to let Doyle's turbulence crash against the calm sea wall of his stoicism, until he'd talked himself into calmer waters.

 

 

"Why didn't you tell me? I'm your partner."

 

 

Bodie smiled, a little wry, "Nice to meet you Doyle. By the way, I'm a poof. Hope you don't mind working with me. I promise not to grab your arse at the wrong moment."

 

 

"You bastard," Doyle said, almost equably, betraying tension "Does anyone else know? "

 

 

"In CI5? Only Murph. Well, anyone else bent that way might guess. I've a few suppositions myself."

 

 

"Who? No, don't tell me, I don't want to know. Does Cowley know?"

 

 

"Yeah, Cowley knows."

 

 

He didn't want to talk. He wanted to sit in silence and enjoy the way his partner was looking at him, feel himself undressed by his eyes, know that Doyle was seeing him hot, erect, sweaty with lust. What was he imagining? Bodie kissing Murph, sucking his cock, fucking. . . Fuck. He dragged his mind back to sanity. He had to wipe that glazed look off Doyle's face before it turned to revulsion.

 

 

Bodie leaned close to Doyle's face and put on his best parade ground Sergeant Major whisper, "Doyle, snap out of it!"

 

 

Doyle finished his drink and pushed the glass away. "I'll have another."

 

 

Bodie tried to size him up. Was it going to be a 'the world is my best mate' drunk or would a sarky, mean bastard crawl out of the glass tonight? Whatever, best take his lumps now. It was going to get worse before it got better. 'If it gets better,' taunted the voice.

 

 

******

 

 

"'S'alright, Bodie, you're me best mate." He lurched forward and dragged Bodie with him. "No really, my best mate in the whole world. Partners, thass us." He snorted and chuckled and tried to sit down on the footpath outside his building.

 

 

"Upsy daisy, Ray," Bodie hauled him upright and propped him against the wall as he fished around for keys to the security door. "Time for all good boys to be in bed."

 

 

"Yeah, but you're not a good boy, are you Bodie?" He choked with laughter at his own biting wit.

 

 

"Very true, my son, however I'm not going to bed. You are." Bodie propelled him through the door and steered him up the stairs, one arm around his waist, Doyle's arm over his shoulders. "Come on, Ray. One step at a time."

 

 

"You comin' on to me, Bodie?" Doyle lurched to a stop outside his flat door and swung around to breathe scotch into Bodie's face. "If you're a poof why haven't you come on to me? Bloke's are always comin' on to me."

 

 

'Only those I don't scare off first,' went Bodie's inner voice.

 

 

His arms around Bodie's neck, Doyle sagged again, his hard, wiry body pressed up against Bodie, thigh to thigh and chest to chest. Bodie pushed his nearly unconscious partner against the wall. "If you don't shut it, Doyle, I'm going to leave you to sleep it off in the hall."

 

 

"You wouldn't do that to me, me best mate, partners. We gotta look out for each other. Cowley'd have your guts for garters if we didn't look after. . ." A huge yawn interrupted his monologue and Bodie shoved him inside the flat.

 

 

Bodie turned off the security alarms while Doyle stumbled over to the sideboard. "'Nother drink, Bodie?"

 

 

"You've had enough. Time for bed." He grabbed Doyle by the shoulders and steered him towards the bedroom.

 

 

"You taking me to bed? You said you wouldn't do that, Bodie. Why you doing that? Bodie?"

 

 

"Christ, Ray." Bodie could see the end of his tether approaching. "I'm putting you to bed, okay?" An armful of staggering Doyle sliding against his groin was not making his self-appointed task easy. He briefly contemplated letting Doyle stay where he seemed so ready to fall, but some smaller, better nature intervened.

 

 

In the bedroom, Bodie shoved him onto the bed. Doyle collapsed bonelessly, looked up at him with wide, sleepy eyes. Drunk, smelly, dishevelled, dissolute and totally compelling, Bodie wanted to eat him alive.

 

 

"Don't you want to fuck me, Bodie?" he asked through a jaw-cracking yawn.

 

 

"No," he answered. 'Liar,' said the voice in his head.

 

 

"'S'okay, then," Ray muttered, and passed out.

 

 

Bodie contemplated getting Doyle's shoes off, tucking him in, making him comfortable, as they'd done for each other before. No, not tonight. Tonight, taking those few steps to Doyle's bedside would be a bad, bad plan.

 

 

"Night, Ray," he said to his snoring partner, and let himself out of the flat, wondering if Murph had waited up for him. He hoped so.

 

 

******

 

 

Bodie leaned on the buzzer and was answered with an indistinct snarl.

 

 

"Rise and shine, Doyle."

 

 

He returned to the car, not willing to go upstairs. Last night with Murph has been good, hot and sweet as always, but it had left him feeling vaguely incomplete. Murphy had been too tall, too easygoing, too ... too even-tempered.

 

 

Ray was taking his time. Bodie grinned to himself, Ray's head mustn't be too good this morning. He resolved to squash the lascivious speculation about his partner. Sometimes he'd revenge himself on Ray for being so attractive to him. Something told him that he'd have to stop playing those games or Ray would start to notice them.

 

 

The passenger door opened and a slightly green Doyle slid into the car.

 

 

"Morning, Ray. Sleep well?" Only the very smallest smile sparkled in his overbright eyes. Sex, any kind of sex, agreed with Bodie, sleep didn't enter into it.

 

 

Doyle grumbled, "Not as well as you, obviously," and slid further down his seat, dark glasses hiding his expression as well as protecting his eyes. "Who was it this..." Bodie watched his lips tighten as Doyle realised just who Bodie had probably slept well with.

 

 

Bodie surprised himself by drawing gently into the morning traffic, not gunning away from the kerb as he usually did.

 

 

"How much did I drink last night?"

 

 

"I stopped counting."

 

 

"Thanks for getting me home."

 

 

"What mates are for, mate."

 

 

"Bodie."

 

 

Here it comes.

 

 

"Did I ... say anything?"

 

 

"You usually have a lot to say."

 

 

"That's not what I mean. I." Doyle gave up. "My head hurts," he complained.

 

 

Truth or prevarication? Bodie wondered. He glanced sideways at his fragile-headed partner, payback time.

 

 

"You asked if I wanted to fuck you."

 

 

Doyle winced.

 

 

"Oh," he looked out the side window. "What did you answer?"

 

 

"No."

 

 

"Oh."

 

 

"After all, I'm a gentleman. I don't take advantage." The smug righteousness in Bodie's voice made Doyle turn to look at him. Bodie grinned lasciviously back and waggled his eyebrows. Doyle's reserve broke and he laughed, couldn't stop laughing, doubled over breathlessly, choking and moaning and snorting. "Ow, oh, my head. Bodie, you bastard."

 

 

Contentment settled the acid fear in stomach. It was going to be all right.

 

 

When he'd recovered, the Doylish curiosity finally appeared.

 

 

"What about girls, Bodie. You go out with lots of women. Do you like 'em? Is it a front?"

 

 

"Women are nice, Ray, and using them as a cover is no hardship." Bodie frowned at the road.

 

 

"But?" Doyle prompted.

 

 

"But they're not the real thing." Bodie suppressed the predatory grin he could feel behind his words, not a good time to fix a consuming gaze on his partner.

 

 

There was a brief pause, a sense of bridges crossed. Doyle's voice was quiet when he voiced his next question.

 

 

"Is Murph the real thing?"

 

 

Bodie tried to work out what Doyle was asking. Whatever it was, it wasn't the obvious meaning. Was Doyle fishing? Testing his attachment to the other agent? Was he worried that Bodie would want to partner Murphy? The realisation that Doyle was not so upset he wanted them to split warmed Bodie. He smiled as the car shrieked around a corner.

 

 

"He's a good bloke, a mate," Bodie wondered how frank he should be. "We have a good time together." Coy, said the inner voice, very coy. "But I don't want to work with him full time, if that's what you're asking."

 

 

Doyle propped a foot up on the dash, "Does it bother you, now that I know?"

 

 

"Does it bother you to know?"

 

 

There was no immediate answer. Bodie risked a glance, Doyle was looking out the side window, one hand clenched on his raised thigh.

 

 

"No," Doyle answered the London streets, "it'll be okay."

 

 

Bodie relaxed.

 

 

"But grab my arse one more time and you're a dead man."

 

 

The car screeched to a halt outside CI5.

 

 

"Doyle," Bodie paused as they climbed out of the car, "you spoil all my fun."

 

 

They loped into the building. "I'll give you fun, mate, if you keep this up."

 

 

Bodie firmly squashed the arse grabbing impulse, it'd been good while it lasted. "Promises, promises, my little chickadee," he smirked and strode ahead of his partner.

 

 

"Bodie! I'll ... Morning Sir."

 

 

Cowley frowned at their high spirits. "It's about time you two made an appearance. Her Majesty's enemies don't wait politely for you to finish your porridge. Briefing room, on the double."

 

 

******

 

 

Another day, another jailed terrorist. Bodie was feeling good about life. A neat job, no mess. He caught up with Murphy in the restroom.

 

 

"We on tonight, Murph?" he asked, making himself a cuppa.

 

 

"Sorry, tall dark and handsome, made other plans. Friday?"

 

 

"Yeah, okay."

 

 

He listened to Murph leave, wondered how long he could be bothered with someone who wasn't serious. Was it age that sparked this odd desire for something more than hot sex and good company? He shook his head to clear it.

 

 

"Been stood up?"

 

 

He looked up his partner. Doyle must have passed Murphy on his way in.

 

 

"Looks like it."

 

 

"Well, you know what they say, Bodie, all men are bastards."

 

 

Bodie widened his eyes, fluttered his eyelashes and cooed, "But you'd treat me right, wouldn't you darlin'?"

 

 

It earned him a punch in the arm. "Idiot. It's a thrilling game of darts and few pints of beer for you tonight, my lad."

 

 

******

 

 

London gleamed in the night. Bodie felt warm happiness in his gut. He was driving smooth and fast through the sharp night of the city, he'd had a great evening, relaxed, spent with his best mate. The same best mate who sprawled bonelessly in the seat next to him, whose hard, denim clad thigh he brushed whenever he changed gear. He briefly contemplated asking Doyle to move his leg. 'Yes,' snickered the voice in his head, 'Just tell him his knees make yours go wobbly.'

 

 

Doyle was unusually quiet on the ride home. He didn't seemed deep in thought, or perhaps just tired and a little drunk. Bodie glanced at him occasionally, but didn't want to spoil the comfortable mood. When he pulled up in front of Doyle's flat, his partner turned to him, touched his arm tentatively.

 

 

"Will you come up for a bit?"

 

 

"Is there a drink in it?"

 

 

Doyle got out of the car, closed the door and stuck his head back in the window, making a sour lemon face and affecting a familiar accent.

 

 

"If you stop dawdling, 3.7."

 

 

Bodie laughed, secured the car and followed his mate inside.

 

 

"Alcohol or coffee?" Doyle asked.

 

 

His partner just looked at him. Doyle twisted the cap from the bottle and poured two generous glasses of scotch, handing one over and drinking half the other.

 

 

Bodie settled on to the couch, wondering what was up. Doyle paced back and forth, agitated, then sat in the armchair opposite. He twisted the glass in his hands. Bodie was completely unprepared for what came next.

 

 

"We can't continue as partners." He raised his hand to stop Bodie's speaking. "I can't continue working with you. I can't concentrate on work and it won't be long before I start making mistakes. I don't want to let you down, Bodie, because of something I can't deal with."

 

 

"But you said you were okay with it. You said it didn't bother you. What, can't work with a queer, Doyle?" Anger made Bodie's voice sound ugly.

 

 

"That's not it. You've got to understand, it's not that I don't want to be your partner. I just can't stop thinking about what you are."

 

 

"Leave it, mate," Bodie said, softening under Doyle's begging tone. "The novelty will wear off. We can go on like before." He was embarrassed, fair skin blushing, resolutely exploring the depths of his drink. "I won't rub your face in it. I don't, do I? Just try and forget it."

 

 

"What," Doyle's voice cracked. "What if I want you to rub my face in it," he asked, sounding like he wasn't sure what he was saying. "What if I can't forget? What if I can't stop thinking about it every day? Damn it, Bodie." He put his glass down with a bang.

 

 

Bodie blinked at the noise and looked up.

 

 

Doyle's head was in his hands and he was rubbing his temples. "What are you doing to me?"

 

 

"Ray, don't do this. It doesn't have to matter. Just forget it," he repeated.

 

 

"I can't," Doyle answered roughly, "I can't get the images out of my head."

 

 

Bodie's face blanched, but his groin grew warm, "Me and," he hesitated, "Murph?"

 

 

"You and me," came the muffled reply. "Jesus Christ, Bodie, you and me." Doyle sat slumped, head in hands. "You and me," he said again, softly.

 

 

Bodie couldn't breathe, much less speak. Every drop of blood was heading to his cock, every ounce of desire was leading him to the man across the coffee table, every skerrick of common sense was screaming at him to leave, to forget what he'd heard and to make Ray forget it with the force of his own forgetting. But words are like bullets, once fired they can't be put back in the chamber. They mark the hand that fires and the body that receives.

 

 

Bodie didn't know what to do next. He did know what he wanted to do: run far away before he broke the best friendship he'd ever had. But Ray looked beaten, and he hated that more than anything in the world.

 

 

"Ray, mate, look at me." Doyle's shoulders remained hunched over. "Please, Ray." Bodie realised he was begging.

 

 

Doyle raised his head and raw, tearless, angry eyes met Bodie's.

 

 

"It doesn't mean anything," he tried reassurance.

 

 

"Maybe not to you, Bodie," the harsh words cut deep, "but it means something to me."

 

 

Bodie was afraid to ask, afraid not to ask.

 

 

"What does it mean, Ray?"

 

 

Doyle was standing, then he was standing. A short step and they were toe to toe.

 

 

"Well, get on with it."

 

 

Bodie hesitated and an unpleasant comprehension infected Doyle's face. "Was this a setup Bodie? Were you and Murph setting me up? You bastard. You're not really gay at all, are you?" Anger chased a fleeting disappointment from his face. He tried to push Bodie away.

 

 

'No,' Bodie thought, and grabbed Doyle's shoulders, kissing him fast. He tried to devour the man in his arms, tried to pour every bit of passion, everything he felt for his partner into the kiss, trying to convince him without words, with the heat and press of his body, with his hungry hands.

 

 

He started walking, pushing Doyle backwards, towards his room. Every step brushed cock over cock with rough stimulation. Doyle stumbled when the back of his knees hit the bed and they fell together, only a quick twist of their bodies avoiding certain damage.

 

 

Fear - that it was a mistake, that Doyle would change his mind, that he would wake up drawn and frustrated drove Bodie to swift completion. He wanted to feel Doyle arch and moan, he wanted to brand himself on Doyle. Half mad with disbelief and desire he jerked Doyle's cock through his jeans, sure he could feel every ridge and pulse through the tight denim. Sucking in his breath, shaking and gripping Bodie's arms like death, Doyle broke and Bodie felt wet warmth under his hand.

 

 

Doyle gasped. "That's it? That's all it is?" He rolled onto his back, shaking with laughter and relief. "Bodie," he said when he could speak again, he leaned up on one elbow, his face flushed, hair a mess with sweat, eyes wide, half dazzled and half afraid.

 

 

Bodie ran a hand around his neck, pulling him close. "Yeah," he said, "I know, and that's not all it is," he added, before their lips met.

 

 

"Take my clothes off," Bodie said, between kisses, wondering how it was he came to love this man so much, "and take off yours while you're at it."

 

 

Much later, Doyle felt the total relaxation in Bodie, slumped against him. A different kind of sharp reality slid into his brain. Agitated, he pushed Bodie off and got out of bed. He stood, unsure of where to go, where there was to go from here. He started towards the door.

 

 

"Ray."

 

 

He paused, not knowing how to respond. Regret lurked on the edges of his mind, waiting for a weak point. In the mirror of the dresser he could see Bodie, sprawled on his back, eyes closed, damp, languid and beautiful. Then Bodie was upright and standing behind him, hands on his shoulders, turning him round. Time had compressed to proximity as he stood, head down, still lost.

 

 

"Ray."

 

 

He looked up. Bodie, it was just Bodie, no stranger, no angel or devil sending him spinning and out of control to hell. Just Bodie, puzzled, concerned, solid, certainty against fear, shield against danger, strong right hand, his own Bodie. The scattered fragments of his self fell back together, knit into a new whole, but still himself, now it was easier to see his other half, the connections that tied him to Bodie and Bodie to him. He grasped his partner's arms and pulled him close, kissed him, felt their damp bellies, semen sticky soft cocks, the sweat-frictioned pull of skin and hair. This too, was right, this cool aftermath.

 

 

******

 

 

It was unfortunate perhaps that the very next day Cowley sent Bodie and Murphy north on a job.

 

 

Doyle wandered restlessly about his flat that night, missing Bodie in ways he'd never missed him before. The previous night his body had been exhausted but not his mind. Images of naked, replete Bodie crowded his mind alongside Bodie, sweat streaked and thrusting hard, his best friend's body familiar but electrifyingly new again. Not just to protect and be relied upon, but to relish and pleasure. He rubbed his fly, remembering Bodie's face as he'd talked Doyle into fellating him. "You'll never know till you have a go," he'd said, a finger curled into Doyle's hair tugging down gently. "Please, Ray."

 

 

He closed his eyes, feeling his cock harden as he recalled the taste of Bodie's. God, but he wanted to taste that again.

 

 

"Don't limit your options, Doyle," Bodie has whispered in his ear as a saliva-slick finger was probing his arse, sending messages of pure pleasure, "you should try everything once. You never know if you might like it."

 

 

Oh, he liked it all right. He liked it very much indeed. Far too much to survive the next few Bodie-less weeks on female rations alone. He recalled the clubs he'd known about when he was a copper. Places he'd not have been seen dead in then, but now...

 

 

He changed into clean, tight jeans and a tee shirt, locked away his gun and ID, grabbed his leather jacket and went hunting.

 

 

******

 

 

Bodie bounced up to Doyle's foyer door. He was back, after three long, lonely, frustrating weeks. He'd arrived too late last night, too early this morning really, to just turn up on Doyle's doorstep, much as he wanted to. He'd only had a few hours sleep, but the prospect of seeing Doyle, the Doyle he'd last seen face down and shagged out on his own bed, had him walking on air. Murphy had been a great temptation, but had understood Bodie's spare explanation about Ray and partners and loyalty. He'd offered genuine congratulations and headed out to find his own entertainment.

 

 

Bodie wondered how his randy Ray had survived their separation. Never mind, he reassured himself, they'd soon be assuaging the itch. Enthusiastically, he pressed the buzzer in a fanfare.

 

 

"Who is it?"

 

 

The voice was male, unfamiliar. Something was wrong.

 

 

"Where's Doyle?"

 

 

"In the shower. Hold on, I'll buzz you in."

 

 

Who was this git? Letting him in without knowing who he was. Couldn't be a new CI5 agent, could it? Not that stupid. Bodie took the steps three at a time.

 

 

When he got to the door he could hear the voice on the other side.

 

 

"Ray love, how do you get these damn locks open? Your family jewels are fabulous but do they really require this much protection?"

 

 

Pain and rage fought for supremacy in Bodie's gut. Then he heard Doyle.

 

 

"No, Dave, no! Don't open the door"

 

 

Bodie's face was like thunder. He strode into the flat, fixing Dave with his most intimidating stare. Dave bit back the comment he was about to make about jealous boyfriends. This bloke looked like he just wanted an excuse, any excuse, to pound him into the ground. He wondered if breathing was an excuse. He felt pinned like a rabbit in under that headlight stare.

 

 

He was relieved when Doyle took his arm and walked him to the door, "I've got to go to work. You better be off now, sunshine."

 

 

Bodie clenched his teeth. Who the fuck was his partner calling sunshine?

 

 

Doyle stayed between Bodie and Dave as he saw him out. Hidden from Bodie's view by the open door, Dave recovered, put his hand on Ray's neck and kissed him. "Thanks," he whispered, "see you again sometime, if you can slip the leash."

 

 

Doyle grinned and punched him lightly on the arm. "Piss off now, there's a good lad." He closed the door and returned to the living room, Bodie was standing like a statue of a mad bull, watching him tuck in his shirt.

 

 

"What are you waiting for Bodie? Let's go."

 

 

Bodie wrapped his hands around Doyle's biceps and pulled him close, kissed him hard, tried to kiss away the taste of another man. He stepped back and looked at Doyle darkly, breathing fast, heart pounding.

 

 

"Good morning to you too," Doyle smiled, and dived in for another breath stealing kiss, "we really have to go to work now," he said against Bodie's lips, "tonight?"

 

 

"Yeah," Bodie willed his erection away, unsuccessfully, "tonight." Tonight Doyle could tell him what the fuck was going on.

 

 

In between the day's action, in quiet moments, when his mind wasn't working like the cool, controlled fighting machine it was, he thought about his partner. Maybe it hadn't been what it seemed to be this morning. Perhaps this Dave bloke was just a mate. Yes, the inner voice agreed, a mate who stays overnight, who thought Ray's family jewels were fabulous. They were, but that was surely beside the point. A mate Ray called sunshine.

 

 

Bodie hoped he had misread the situation but he knew he hadn't. He tried to reconcile Ray's warm welcome and promise with tom-catting around. Ray was straight. Well, mostly straight. He'd turned on for Bodie, but that was only because they had a special relationship, closer than family, closer than lovers already.

 

 

Where had he found this Dave? Had he just been missing Bodie, or had... Bodie didn't want to think of Doyle chasing men the way he chased women. He closed his eyes on visions of his partner turning his scruffy charm on men who'd eat up his irresistible combination of rough trade and sweetness. Young enough and hard enough, dangerous and vulnerable, with an arse like heaven poured into that display case he called jeans.

 

 

Then the delegation arrived; training and instinct turned his mind to the job.

 

 

******

 

 

"- fuck Cowley and fuck the Minister." Doyle's tirade came to an end as the car drew up in front of his flat. Bodie stared straight ahead afraid to look at his partner. There'd been no indication from Doyle all day about his welcome tonight. He hadn't said a thing about Bodie coming back to his flat. No plans had been made. Just that promise this morning. He heard the car door open, slam closed and Doyle's footsteps moving off. He hadn't even said goodbye.

 

 

The door opened. "Don't just sit there like a great lump mate, or me and the beer will start without you."

 

 

In the flat Doyle's earlier mood was gone, as if it had never been. He turned such smile of lust and promise and happiness on Bodie, that Bodie was afraid his heart would stop.

 

 

"It's good to have you back, Bodie." Doyle grabbed his face and planted a quick and sleazy kiss that he felt in his heart and groin and all points in between.

 

 

Doyle was like the sun burning away all the fog of the north, all the cold mornings in a strange and lonely bed. He never wanted them to be apart again. They'd live together, they'd work together, they'd nurse old injuries together in their dotage. Every morning would have two sunrises and every evening two sunsets, if you counted the waking and sleeping of his Ray. . . Bodie pulled his thoughts up short and laughed at himself. Bad poetry, smirked the voice in his head, it must be love. Love, that was what that miserable yearning was, while he'd been so far away. And love was the flood of warmth and happiness that filled him now.

 

 

Doyle bounced around Bodie, throwing playful punches at his waist.

 

 

"Tried something very tasty indeed the other night, mate," he leered, "can't wait to show you." He danced off towards the kitchen. "Want a beer?" he called over his shoulder.

 

 

Bodie didn't know how to move or what to say. He stood in the hall like a fool, all of his earlier agonising swept back into his heart carried on cold winds.

 

 

"What. . " the word came out wrong, as if the question didn't want to be asked. He swallowed a mouthful of the beer Doyle handed him and tried again.

 

 

"What have you been doing while I've been away?"

 

 

Doyle grinned at him. "Checking out the real thing." He flopped onto the couch. "There's a great bar just near where you live, Bodie. Some very tasty action there. God, I wish you could do that with women: walk in sex. Fantastic. No holds barred, no questions asked, as much as you want, how you want, when you want."

 

 

To his credit Bodie spent a second trying to contain his rage. It didn't work.

 

 

"You bastard! You fucking, cheating bastard. I was only away for three fucking weeks. Three cold, lonely fucking weeks."

 

 

Doyle was momentarily speechless. Bodie towered over him like a thunder cloud, green and black with rage. His own anger flooded into the shocked space created by Bodie's attack.

 

 

"Hold on a minute, mate. It was your idea. Shouldn't limit yourself, you said. You'll never know until you have ago. Try anything bloody once." His voice rose to a shout. "Who the fuck do you think you are telling me what to do?" He hit his pace and settled into it. "What were you thinking bursting in here this morning and treating my guest, my guest, like some toerag?"

 

 

Bodie found his voice. "A guest? Is that what you call them now? They used to be known as rent boys."

 

 

Doyle turned and headed for the kitchen. He'd almost hit Bodie and he still held enough grip on himself not to want to do that.

 

 

Bodie wasn't so controlled. Jealousy was raging through him; anger and pain. Doyle felt a large hand grab his shoulder.

 

 

"Where do you . . ." Bodie started, when Doyle swung around and threw him off.

 

 

"Don't touch me. I say who touches me." His face was red and his hands clenched into fists.

 

 

"Why start being discerning now?"

 

 

"What the fuck's the matter with you, Bodie? Do you think you own me? Because we fucked?" Doyle blazed.

 

 

"What's the matter with me? You fucking idiot. I love you, you bastard!" Bodie shouted.

 

 

All of the fight drained from Doyle. He gaped, open-mouthed.

 

 

"Well," he said finally, quietly, "why the fuck didn't you tell me that before?"

 

 

"Does it make a difference?" Bodie sounded defeated.

 

 

Doyle leaned his forehead on Bodie's. "Of course it makes a difference, you berk." His hands roamed over Bodie's arms and shoulders, he pulled him into a hug.

 

 

"I love you too."

 

 

"No one else?" Bodie asked, not quite steadily. "No blokes, no girls," he paused before the enormity of what he was asking, "just me."

 

 

Doyle drew back from his snacking on Bodie's neck and looked him in the eye.

 

 

"Just you and me, mate."


End file.
